31/05/2025
Deep beneath the mountain known as the World’s Spine, there lies a hidden vault—long sealed, long forgotten. Only those who follow the echoes of the old songs can find the door, and only those who dream in fire and shadow can open it.
Kaelen, a wanderer marked by starlight and exile, stood at the threshold. The ancient runes pulsed faintly under his fingertips, sensing the bloodline he never knew he had. With a whisper of forgotten words, the stone door yawned open, revealing a chamber lit by blue flame. In its center, suspended above a dais of obsidian, floated the Emberfang—a sword said to be forged from the breath of a dying phoenix and cooled in the tears of the moon.
But Kaelen was not alone.
A statue of a dragon, massive and lifelike, loomed behind the blade. Its eyes shimmered as if watching, its mouth curled into an eternal snarl. Some say it is only stone. Others claim it is a guardian cursed to slumber until the unworthy try to take the sword. The silence in the chamber was heavy. The sword called to him—but so did the dread.
Would you take the sword, risking the dragon’s wrath, or leave it untouched and walk away?
